Distraction
by necowaffer
Summary: When an assassin comes looking for Jane, Darcy does everything within her power to keep him distracted until help arrives.


This was my first time writing in present tense and I'm not sure how well I pulled it off. It was much harder than I anticipated and I don't think I'll try it again, but it was a fun exercise nonetheless. Thank you for reading!

* * *

Darcy moves around the darkened lab with a practiced ease, checking machine calibration and making sure the computers that were set to collect data would do so without any glitches. It was a nightly routine she'd gotten used to in the three or so years since becoming Jane Foster's assistant. Even though astrophysics wasn't what she had intended to study when she entered college, Jane's boyfriend Thor certainly made a solid case for how exciting it could be.

Jane and Thor were way out in the desert, setting and calibrating the extra equipment she used to study the stars. And then probably necking because that seemed to be all Jane and Thor did these days. Sex and science. If there was a touch of bitterness to the thought, she wouldn't hold on to it because honestly, Darcy found she couldn't really be mad. While her own sex life was as dry as the New Mexico desert, London and by extension Ian, had not really helped work that out. At this point in her life, she was used to taking care of things herself.

Darcy was just checking the data stream on one of the last monitors, her iPhone up as loud as it would go with her expensive, SHIELD funded headphones around her neck as she finished up for the evening before heading to her small apartment in town.

Pulling her glasses off, she rubs her eyes tiredly as she waits for the computer to finish backing up to the external servers when she felt it. She couldn't be sure what exactly _it_ was, nothing more than a shift in the atmosphere, but Darcy was suddenly aware that she was not alone in the lab. As far as she knew there weren't any SHIELD agents in the area. There wasn't really any need with Thor around. And there certainly wasn't any reason for an agent to sneak in unannounced so late at night.

No, someone had crept into the lab while Darcy dance obliviously from one machine to the next. The feel of ill unease ghosted across her skin as she slowly rose from her bent position over the computer. As her eyes scanned the darkened room, her hands worked to pull off her headphones and turn the music on her phone down until there was nothing more than the hum of equipment. Her thumb hovered over an app she developed that would send an alert to Jane's phone in case of emergency. She felt extremely confident in that if there was a threat, Thor would show up quickly to deal with it.

Even still, she felt more than a little paranoid as she called out, "So, if anyone is out there, I've got a god on speed dial," and didn't entirely expect a response.

"Where is Jane Foster?" The deep voice that answered back sounded like scratching feels, rough and unused. Darcy's head snaps up, hair falling across her shoulder as she searched behind her.

Even though there was enough light streaming in through one of the unshuttered windows to see the room by, her intruder managed to stay in the blackest part of the shadows, almost completely hidden from view. Darcy could only make out the vaguest of shifting shapes, but the impression she got was a dangerous one.

"Jane?" Was Darcy's unsophisticated squeak of a reply as she let her thumb drop onto the app at nearly the same time every monitor in the room went black. "The _fuck_…" she says, whipping around, now completely blank phone falling from her hand onto the table.

"What did you do!" She yells, frantically tapping at the keyboard as if doing so would magically bring back all the data.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end causing her to look back up from her useless chore and startled to find how close he had gotten. He stood only a few measly feet from her, not nearly enough to give her even a small sense of safety - as false as that may be. She had a better look at him though, and he was tall and broad and dressed from head to toe in black leather and - _fuck_ - those are guns strapped to every inch of him.

His dark hair was long and unkempt and there was a ghost of stubble across his strong jaw. His gaze took her in lazily, his gait unhurried as he moved toward her. She felt a tingle all the way down to the tips of her fingers at the sight of him. Whether from fear or a completely inappropriate response to his proximity, she couldn't tell . Either way, her breath caught when he leaned forward and dropped a black box onto the desk beside her phone.

Glancing down at the box with little blue lights dancing across it, it took a minute to put together that this little thing had knocked out every electrical machine in the room, maybe beyond. She knew what this was, "an electromagnetic pulse," she murmured, eyes darting up to take him in.

He had killed Darcy's phone, any security cameras linking them back to SHIELD and Jane's work. Luckily, part of Darcy's routine is to back everything up to SHIELD's external server. Hopefully her alert went out before the power did. Whoever this person was, he meant business. Whatever it was that he wanted, she didn't have it and it was suddenly, frightenly clear that she would not let him get his hands on Jane. If he wanted something from the lab, he could've taken it already, but he wasn't looking for research, he was looking for her friend.

Her breathing suddenly sounded too loud in the now silent room, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She fidgeted uselessly, taking a step back, gauging her distance from the door and the odds of getting out before he caught her. She didn't feel like they were in her favor. Her purse was sitting somewhere behind her and inside it was her trusty taser.

A stupid plan was forming in her mind that maybe her taser had managed to survive the death cull of the other machinery and she could take him down and actually get out of this whole thing alive. She had to hope that, at the very least, the app worked and Jane and Thor were on their way back.

She just needed to stall him. She needed to buy some time and wait for rescue. That was definitely the best option. Surely someone within SHIELD was assigned to check up on them through what she was sure an unnecessary amount of security bugs in the lab.

"What do you want Jane for? You know, you just killed her research, right? I don't think she's going to be too happy about that." Darcy rambles, trying to quell some of the more base ideas she had to kill time. There's a persistent tingle building, familiar in high stress situations that she's desperate to ignore.

He shifts closer to her, bringing her attention right back to him as his metal arm - _that she was just now noticing_ - whirl and clicked as his fist clenched. As he moves forward, Darcy takes a step back, stumbling and almost falling into the desk chair that's magically behind her. The damn thing wouldn't move out of the way either, probably caught on one of the hundreds of cords crisscrossing the ground like a fire marshal's wet dream.

The assassin is close enough now that Darcy notices eyes that are shockingly blue and terrifyingly blank as they watch her lips move. That odd tingle lit up within her, making her palms itch. She felt insane to wonder what was under all that leather, her legs tensing at the thought. Her tongue smoothed over full, red lips as she tore her eyes away. She needed to get a handle on the situation. If ever there was a time not to succumb to stress, now was that time.

"Hey," Darcy says, snatching her phone from the table and waving it in his face. She feels like she's poking a tiger with a too short stick, but she isn't going to stand around being intimidated. It was already bad enough with the way her heart was beating so fast and her knees felt weaker the closer he got.

"Jane would be on her way already if you hadn't fried the my phone." _With her godly boyfriend who would easily wipe the floor with you_, she thinks, but there was no reason to put all her cards on the table.

This assassin, with a gun at his hip and knife on his belt and metal arm that could easily crush bone. Astrophysicists aren't exactly of the dangerous variety. Even if Darcy's legendary tasering skills managed to precede her, there was no reason to send in someone like this guy. He was, without a doubt, here to deal with Thor. And judging by the way he's packing, he's more than prepared for the God of Thunder.

Darcy is trying to process that realization when he speaks. "I have my orders to bring Jane Foster in tonight. If she isn't here then you will take me to her." His voice is low and rough in a way that is decidedly pleasant and god help her, it does things to her train of thought.

As he leans forward and wraps a hand around her upper arm, she does not doubt his intention to literally drag her from the building and across the desert until they find Jane. The thing is that Darcy has no idea where exactly Jane would be this evening. She doesn't get the coordinates for the new machines until after Jane places them because she follows a complex scientific method of driving around and waiting for the box to give the right beep and then setting up.

Weighing the few options in front of her, she knows her best chance of getting help is staying where's she's at. Eventually someone at SHIELD will notice things are offline. Her brain short circuits beyond that simple thought, however. The hand on her arm is strong and warm and she feels a feverish chill all over. He's not as rough as she imagined he would be. She expects to be yanked along with bruising force, but his touch is, well not exactly gentle, but she's sure this man is capable of exerting more force instead of pulling her in close as he turns to lead her out of the room.

"Hey wait," she says, digging in her heels to stop him, her hand grabbing his arm, fingers curling in supple leather.

He turns immediately. Looking at first to the hand on his arm for a long moment before turning blue eyes to assess her carefully and Darcy's throat goes dry. His eyes now held something far more closely resembling emotion, though she can't place what exactly it is because she's expecting anger. His brow is furrowed gently, just shy of a full scowl with a slight twist of his lips. Her hand lingers, fingers pressing into leather as it becomes apparent that he is confused and something about that very raw realization makes her swallow thickly.

She is acutely aware of the fact that they were standing in a loose embrace and the leather beneath her fingers was soft and warmed from the heat of his body. She feels it leeching into her skin, making its way up her chest, around the curve of her breasts before burning bright at her throat.

"What is it you think you're doing?" He asks leaning in, hooded blue eyes following the blush down her neck to the cleavage peeking out from her oversized sweater.

Darcy bites her lip, unable to answer that because she isn't sure at this point. She gave up the pilot seat a few heartbeats back. She was a completely reactionary creature. His gaze blazes a trail across her skin and she asks herself just how thirsty she must be to be so turned on.

His eyes slide close, metal hand pressing into his temple and Darcy finds herself leaning into him in a twisted sense of concern, resting her palm against the sharp curve of his jaw. The itching in her hand stops at the contact, only to be replaced by a full shiver.

His eyes open and she can't help but feel that he's drinking her in. His hand comes down to wrap around her wrist and she fully expects him to pull away. Instead he goes perfectly still, chest rising and falling as his eyes search her face, filling her with electricity. Inside a war waged as she struggles to control less than moral impulses. Stress and fear had a way of acting as a potent aphrodisiac. Inconvenient to be sure, but it had never put her in such a dangerous situation before.

Darcy wants to believe she's better than this. Thinking about seducing this man she absolutely does not know and is certainly up to no good. But she can't get over this simple touch, a soft stroke against his cheek and the fire burning within. A breath stutters in her chest, as she makes the decision to abandon all resolve and give in to her dark fantasy.

Darcy is distinctly aware of the cold of his metal hand against her skin as she moves her own with more purpose up his cheek and through his hair. And though it's tangled, it's soft and thick and he's looking at her like she's the first person to ever touch him and it's just too much.

"Are you ok?" she breathes on a whisper and it's a stupid question, but she feels the desperate need to say something. He closes his eyes again and leans into her touch and it's such a broken gesture that Darcy closes the distance between their bodies.

He says nothing, but he's looking at her again and Darcy has always been a sucker for blue eyes and stray dogs, and where the hell was SHIELD? Because his chest was broad and warm and his breathing a little uneven and common sense was walking out the door.

When their lips touch, Darcy cannot remember how it happens. Only that here she is, pressed firmly against a strange man with a gun strapped across his back, in Jane's lab and she's sliding her lips against his and he's kissing her back and the thrill is so gratifying that her toes curl. He is at first hesitant and somewhat unsure, but Darcy gives encouragement with tongue and teeth.

His kiss tastes like regret and wouldn't you know it - it's her favorite flavor.

She gives a satisfied sigh when he pushes her back against the desk and presses a knee between her legs to spread them wide. Her hands are on his shoulders and they break contact just long enough to haul her up to sit properly on the table. Darcy allows him to fit himself between her legs, her long bohemian skirt slowly riding up with his warm hand across her thigh and the sensation runs up her back before pooling low in her belly.

This time he leans in, their breath mingling, lips barely touching and Darcy closes her eyes, breathing in the moment before he kisses her again. This kiss is different. It's no longer an unsure touch of lips, replaced with a dark and desperate need that calls out to her. Her response is immediate and full as their tongues slide slick and wet against one another.

Delirious and foolish, Darcy puts nimble fingers to work tugging on his belt, giving only cursory thought to being careful because - oh yeah, the knives. The thought pushes her back to reality. Darcy pulls away from him - and god, she doesn't even know his name - one small hand pushing gently against his chest. He backs away, licking bruised lips before scraping his teeth across his full bottom lip. The very sight has her biting her own, fighting between doing the right thing and doing him. What would Jane say? Nothing good, no doubt, but Darcy has never used 100% of her good judgment when it comes to sex and the way he's looking at her now it would seem that isn't going to change anytime soon.

Darcy slides from the desk and she's breathing so heavy it's almost a pant. His pants are undone and she's pushing them down and guiding him back into the chair and shimming out of her skirt and sliding her sweater off her shoulders to join it on the floor. She climbs into his lap, sliding down to rest over his hips, his hands - one warm, one cool - are gripping the backs of her thighs as his tongue licks across her collarbone.

When she finally takes him in, a ragged sigh escapes at the full feel of him. There is an overwhelming sense of power, sliding over him, taking what she wants from someone who obviously can and does take from others. She rolls her hips and she feels the satisfaction of his grunt all the way down to her toes and sets a fast pace because she feel as if this has been building all night.

He doesn't just lie back and let her do as she pleases like some of the other men she's been with in the past. He's pushing her bra out of the way and pushing his hips to meet hers and that metal hand is bruising her hip. And it's hot and it's fast and she's choking on her moans and almost loses it when he groans deep and jagged. There's a heat deep inside her and then he's parting her lips with metal fingers and she greets them with her tongue and a dirty smirk as she looks into eyes so blown out with lust they've lost all color.

He pulls them out slowly and replaces them with his mouth as his hand moves down between them. Darcy shudders at the feel of his cool fingers against her sensitive flesh and presses down hard against him until it's almost too painful. Every muscle in her body is coiled too tight and it only takes a few swirls of wet fingers before she's coming undone with a strangled gasp, pulling his hair back, teeth biting his lip in a frantic kiss.

She lets herself rest against him as she waits for the trembling in her legs to taper out. Her mind blissfully blank for the few moments as his hands soothes over skin sore from forceful fingers.

Then she's sliding off his lap and snapping up her skirt before leaning back against the desk. That guilt she had decided to push aside earlier in lieu of her amoral activity comes back full swing. And she's never been in an after-sex situation quite as awkward as this. She just wasn't entirely sure what the post coital etiquette was when screwing your friend's assassin.

He's still sitting back in the chair with his eyes closed and Darcy can't help but wonder what he's thinking because she's unable to get a solid grasp on any one thought. Just the bones deep feel of gratification and the pinching heat guilt. There wasn't a cut and dry way of justifying sleeping with him, but if she's being honest - it's part of the draw.

He looks a hundred times more relaxed than when he first walked in, and after a moment, his eyes finally slide open, immediately searching her out. She could scarcely breathe as he considered her for a long while with a look Darcy was all too familiar with, as if he were trying to figure her out. Well, good luck, buddy because it's you and everyone else.

It occurs to Darcy that now might be a good time to get out of there while he's caught with his pants down. In the time it takes her to look over her shoulder to consider the distance to the door, he's pressing himself against her, warm hand wrapping around her wrist. She feels small and trapped against him as he leans down to whisper in her ear.

"Is this how you treat all your guests?"

Heat sweeps through her at his husky, teasing tone, spreading from her belly into her fingertips and she twists her hand to slide her fingers together with his.

"No," she says, a small sardonic twist to her red lips when she hears a noise from out in the hall. Someone was -_finally_- on their way. "I just thought it was a good way to keep you distracted."

Whatever reaction she was expecting from him, it certainly wasn't to throw that smirk back at her. "Hate to disappoint you," he says, bedroom eyes dropping to her mouth, "but you're hardly a distraction." His hand chases a chill up her back before wrapping around the back of her neck. "Helluva wake up call, though," was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.

* * *

"So tell me again, how did he get into the building?" The agent - what did he say his name was? Stencil? Sitwell? - asks again patiently. Darcy has lost track of how many times she's gone over this since waking up on the lab floor to the face of the agent in front of her.

The building is crawling with SHIELD agents now - better late than never, right? - however there is no sign whatsoever of her secret lover. He didn't leave a single clue behind, and Darcy knew the agents were more inclined to believe she had somehow fried the machines herself, but there must've been something in the way she described the events and the man in the lab that gave credence to her words. It was obvious to her that this guy was a pro and didn't do anything without purpose, except maybe sleep with silly interns.

She seriously wasn't getting paid enough for this shit.

"Can you describe him for me one more time. Try to remember anything you may've forgotten. Any small detail," Sitwell says in his even, bland voice that has been grating on Darcy's nerves for a while now.

"If I could remember anything more, I would've already told you," Darcy snaps, done with this whole night. "I don't know what else you're looking for. The guy snuck in. I never saw him enter or leave. He asked about Jane and fried the machines and knocked me out. It was dark but he was tall and one. Of. His. Arms. Was. Metal."

Sitwell blinks as he looks at his notes, completely unfazed by Darcy's attitude. Behind him one of the jackbooted thugs paces, shaking his head in disbelief. Darcy has an immediate disliking of him.

"You expect us to believe that this guy just walked in and out without so much as taking anything?" The thug stops to finally voice his opinion.

Darcy narrows her eyes at him, "he could've. I was unconscious for a while."

He comes to stand before her, arms cross in derision. "If who you're saying was actually here - one of the most deadly assassins, who's never been more than a rumor and you - what? Talked him out of killing you?"

He unfolds and leans forward, hand brushing away Darcy's dark hair from her shoulder, exposing her neck. "Or is there something you're leaving out?"

Darcy can practically hear the leer in his voice and smacks his hand away. "Fuck you," she growls.

"Seems to be the order of the evening," he says back with a smirk that makes Darcy want to claw his eyes out.

"Rumlow," Agent Sitwell says with an edge to his voice and she feels vindicated when the jerk finally stalks out of the room.

"So, what's master steroids going on about?" She asks with an irritated lit to her voice. Who she sleeps with was her business and hers alone and she didn't appreciate anyone trying to shame her for that. Even if it happened to be with the bad guy. She was curious about his comment though. "You guys know who this dude is?"

Agent Sitwell's mouth presses into a thin line before he answers, "Some of what you described matches descriptions given of a certain master assassin, though no one has gotten more than a glimpse of him and lived to tell the tale." Darcy sucks in a sharp breath at his words. She had felt the danger rolling off him in waves, but somehow, having this agent - in his bland gray suit and inflectionless voice - say it so plainly brings reality crashing down on her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for breath.

"It's all rumor, of course," the agent continues. "When something cannot be explained, they credit him. Apparently he's been in business for over 50 years."

His voice is somewhat dismissive of the whole thing and Darcy feels some of the tension ease out of her. "Well, he wasn't that old," she says, leaning forward to rest her arms across her knees.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Sitwell said, giving her a thin smile. She knew he was referring to the marks left on her neck, but she doesn't sense any disapproving judgment from him so she lets it slide.

"If there's anything else you can remember, please let us know." Sitwell says to her, standing and buttoning his suit jacket. "There will be an increase in security until we locate the intruder and figure out what it is he wants."

Darcy nods, numb and tired. Out in the hall she can hear Jane, finally back, calling her name in alarm at the amount of security in the building. Agent Sitwell excuses himself and Darcy prepares for another round of questioning and possibly a long night as they work to get the machines back online.


End file.
